Chapter 2
Tippi
“You know how most coffee places leave those sad bald patches of foam when they shake the chocolate on?” I ask the barista.
She’s very much my type, with a delicate septum ring, an inky black pixie cut, and razor-sharp eyeliner; however, there’s an engagement ring on her finger, so I behave myself.
“Yeah?” she says.
“Yeah, I don’t want that. I want you to murderize my cappuccino with chocolate. Like, an inch-thick crime scene, no foam visible. Total coverage.”
Her mouth twitches. “I gotchu.”
“Thank you.” I pay, and as I turn to move aside, I see him.
Jacob Stewart. Back of the line, framed in the doorway, scrolling his phone like the most absorbing thing in the world lives on that screen.
He absolutely looks like the type who reads long articles about chess openings or obscure tech papers before heading to some sleek office to secure networks and save the world in a quiet, behind-the-scenes way no-one ever finds out about.
“And,” I add quickly, sliding back to the till, “I want to pay for the tall guy’s order. The one in the blue knit sweater. Dark hair, cheekbones, hot in an Egon Schiele, ‘totally forgot he’s a masterpiece’ way.”
Her eyes flick to him, then back to me with a conspiratorial half-smile. “Good choice.”
I hand over cash, tell her to keep the change for the tip jar, and step aside to wait.
I already liked this place, with its wooden beams, floral tablecloths, pop art prints, and soft lamps making everyone look a little more romantic.
The fact it’s also served me a second crack at Sadie’s shy, gorgeous brother? That’s worth a generous tip.
I still can’t get over the whole “no tipping unless you really want to” thing in the UK. My American brain itches every time. Then again, they pay more of a living wage here. Wild concept.
Eventually, Jacob reaches the counter. His order, Earl Grey, delights me. It fits the hot professor vibe he doesn’t know he has. He’s very elegant, very British, very… tidy.
I want to muss him up. Tug his hair, bite his lip, shake loose some of that careful neatness until I reach the secret spark I’m certain is waiting for someone in the center of his chest.
I hear Leo’s stern warning in my head and have to smother a grin: “Do me a favor and don’t break his heart.
I want big family reunions on the reg, so don’t make them weird and uncomfortable for everyone by eating Jacob for breakfast. Only boink him if he’s fully prepared for the Tippi vanishing act. ”
I’m not interested in breaking his heart.
But breaking his bed? While I’m here? If he wants to? Abso-fucking-lutely.
“Already paid for,” the barista tells him when he reaches for his wallet, nodding in my direction with a little smirk. “She got you.”
He blinks at me like he’s hallucinating, and blushes as he walks hesitantly over to me. “I, ah… th… thank you.”
Even his stammer is adorable. I’d be in trouble if I wasn’t such a flight risk.
“You’re very welcome.” I smile my special you’re cute and I’ve definitely noticed smile. “Your order’s far classier than mine.”
He pauses, visibly buffering, then manages, “I’m… sure that’s not true.”
“Cappuccino with an obscene amount of chocolate for Tippi?” the barista calls, sliding my cup over.
I could blow her a kiss for the timing. She’s taken me literally: there’s more sweet cocoa than coffee, not a single scrap of white foam remaining. Good girl.
I arch a brow at Jacob. “I rest my case. Want to sit with me?”
“Um…” His gaze flicks around the room like he’s searching for a fire exit, but I don’t get the sense he wants to escape me. It’s more like the whole situation is a size too big for him. “I… yes. Sure. Yes.”
“Are you sure?” I tease.
He looks at the nearest Lichtenstein print for a few seconds, a small self-deprecating smile forming. “I am, I promise. Sorry, I’m so…” He sighs in resignation. “Socially challenged.”
“That’s OK. I can do the heavy lifting.” My interest kicks up a notch.
He knows he’s awkward; that awareness softens it, making it vulnerable instead of stiff or cold.
The mystery wrapped in the riddle wrapped in the enigma.
My very favorite type. He’s tall, dark, and handsome in the most buttoned up, accidentally sexy way, and I privately promise myself that one day I’m going to have both hands threaded tightly in that thick, dark hair while he’s between my thighs and making me scream opera.
Maybe he feels some echo of that thought, because his face reddens again and he clears his throat. “I’ll - I’ll bring my drink over when they, ah…”
“Sure. I’ll be over there.” I point to a table by the window and head over, watching him walk back to the counter from the corner of my eye.
He has a great ass. That thing looks tight. I can think of several excellent things to do with it. To it. For it.
When he joins me, he sets his tea down with hands that tremble slightly and sits very straight. It’s like good posture is his shield.
“So,” I say, “are you a regular here?”
“Y-yes.” His leg is bouncing under the table, and he can’t quite meet my eye. My brain immediately pulls up a shortlist: autistic, anxious, maybe both. I’ve traveled and worked with enough neurodivergent people to recognize the signs.
Plus, I’m an ADHD pixie myself. I’m getting a definite sympatico vibe.
“I… Let me pay you back for my tea,” he blurts, his voice catching slightly.
I shake my head easily. “It’s OK, I’ve got it.”
“Really,” he insists, firmer now, though the squirmy body language undercuts it. “This is the s-second time you’ve done something nice for me -”
“It’s all good,” I say, but his discomfort is real, not performative, so I throw him a rope. “OK, OK. Let’s just say you owe me again.”
Jacob’s gorgeous mouth twitches. “Another beer?”
Ha. He remembered. “Maybe. Or maybe I’ll think of something… better.” I let my interest show. Warm, overt, no games. I don’t like the slow torture of guessing. I’d rather get to the point and have the orgasms than waste time on ifs and buts and maybes.
He stirs his tea absently, spoon moving in small circles while his eyes trace my face. His breathing hitches, and he leans in a centimeter, like gravity’s shifted.
“Are you…” he starts, then tries again. “Are you here for much longer? England, I mean.”
“Couple of weeks, maybe.” I shrug. “Nice to get some quality time with Leo and Sadie and the kids.” Breakfast flashes into my mind and makes me laugh.
“RhiRhi was cute this morning. I made her an omelet, she called it an ‘on-nom-nomelet’ and asked for enough cheese to feed a family of mice for a month.”
He huffs a laugh, and his leg slows. Family talk is a good ice breaker for him; I’ll remember that. “I love how confident she is.”
“Me too. Sadie and Leo are just letting her be herself, with firm boundaries. It’s kind of the dream.” I grin. “Not that I know anything at all about parenting, but still.”
“That must have been how you were raised, then,” he says.
Heat swirls low in my belly at the way his voice drops when he gets thoughtful. It’s hot, like he contains hidden worlds my wanderlustful soul wants to explore. I cross my legs, enjoying the sparkly way my body responds. “What makes you say that?”
He flinches like he’s only just heard his own words, too late to think better of them. “J-just that you… you’re very…” He searches the air for the right word. “Secure.”
I like the way he says it. Not confident like a performance, but secure like a meaningful foundation. “I’ve learned to trust myself. And to accept who I really am.”
He gives me a small, sad smile that makes me want to climb onto his lap and wrap myself around him until whatever hurt lives under that look softens. “That’s a very fortunate position to be in.”
My curiosity perks its ears. “You can’t be ignorant of your own appeal,” I say gently. Jacob doesn’t strike me as the type to fish for compliments.
“I’m… nothing to write home about,” he mutters, shoulders hunching.
“Please.” I roll my eyes. “You look like you could star in a BBC Jane Austen adaptation.” And he really does, with his quiet intensity and impeccable bone structure. “You’d nail Captain Wentworth. All that stilted, repressed yearning and obvious competence.”
He chuckles, self-conscious but pleased.
“That’s… very kind of you to say. But the truth is…
” He takes another sip of tea. “It wouldn’t matter if I were the best looking man in the world if I don’t have the social capability to support it.
Like having a million pounds in your bank account but no card to spend it with. ”
I whistle softly. “Good analogy.” I slide my hand across the table so my fingers rest near his. “It’s not just your appearance, though.”
And it isn’t. Years of travel have trained my gut to spot good people, safe people.
Safety is a pretty huge compliment from me.
Jacob radiates kindness, even banked this carefully.
I can feel the heat of his inner bonfire from here.
If he ever lets himself burn bright in front of someone, they won’t know what hit them.
Intelligence, focus, that watchful mind; if he relaxed into someone, really let go… God, he’d be devastating.
I decide I’d very much like that someone to be me.
But I’m losing him again. The compliment overload trips a breaker. He retreats behind his cup, taking three slow, measured breaths. I can practically hear the mental reboot. He’s usefully readable.
Time to change the channel.
“Have you ever been to California?” I ask. “I could use an opinion.” I know he has. Sadie told me.
He looks up, surprise easing some of the tension. “I just got back from there a few days ago,” he says, a little ‘small world’ smile tugging at his mouth.
I finally remember my cappuccino. The chocolate crust is thick; I take a sip and feel his gaze track the movement as foam hits my upper lip. I swipe it away with my thumb and lick it off playfully, because I’m only human after all.